


Carnival of Dreams

by Asidian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Carnival, Crushes, Dreams, Dreamscapes, Fate, Fireworks, Friendship, M/M, Moogle Chocobo Carnival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9512084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: Noctis worries this power will do to him what it did to his father; that it will bow his back and grey his hair and ruin his legs. He worries that it will kill him slowly, but Carbuncle watches.Carbuncle knows he does not have that long.And so, as when the boy was very small, Carbuncle carves a space for him, soft and bright, between his waking moments. When Noctis rests his head upon his pillow, Carbuncle steals him away to fill his nights with joy and wonder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I just wanted to write the Moogle Chocobo Carnival as Carbuncle's excuse to give Noct nice things.
> 
> Someone please give Noct nice things. ;;

When the boy is very small, he has no friends.

Carbuncle watches. Carbuncle knows.

At first, he has his mother. Then she passes, and at least his nanny remains, but soon she too is stolen away in violence and blood.

Finally, he has the pretty slip of a girl who will be Oracle, all sweet smiles and gentle touches, but then the Empire comes and rains fire down on them all, and she is taken far away.

The boy is alone.

He has his father, yes. Regis, who used to be Carbuncle's boy but is a boy no longer. But Regis bears the heavy weight of kings; much as he wishes he had time for his son, he has duties to attend. If Noctis were a normal boy, even a normal king, Regis might take him along and teach him to rule by observation.

But he will never have the time to rule, this boy. Regis knows. Carbuncle knows.

And so he is spared what freedom he may be allowed early on, away from politics and assemblies. Instead he explores the gardens, and learns to fish, and plays games designed for one.

For all this glorious gift of time that Regis has given him, it does little to ease the boy's loneliness.

Carbuncle watches. Carbuncle knows.

And when Noctis rests his head upon his pillow, Carbuncle steals him away to fill his nights with joy and wonder, with friends he does not have.

 

* * *

 

When the boy is half-grown, he gains his first friend: the one who will be his advisor.

Noctis shows his affections in strange ways. He perfects poor posture and refuses to eat his vegetables. He antagonizes for the simple sake of it, for the attention it garners him, but Carbuncle watches. Carbuncle sees how the boy appreciates the simple gestures of care: the fresh-baked cookies or the neatly-pressed clothes laid out on his bed. There is a moment's pause, always, and then a secret smile. The boy is touched, in his own quiet way.

The boy's second friend is the one who will be his Shield.

Noctis is adept at needling this one, too. Perhaps too much so. He complains of his lessons; he slacks and postpones and oversleeps on days when he should be training, but Carbuncle watches. Carbuncle sees how the boy struggles to please. How a compliment from the Shield, so gruff and frugal with them, drives the boy to be the best that he can be.

The boy's final friend is not bound to him by duty at all.

There is nothing but earnest affection from the one with the unfortunate mark upon his wrist. Noctis pretends at exasperation when this new playmate slings an arm around his shoulders and asks for a photo together, but Carbuncle watches. Those photos return to Noctis as gifts, and they are kept carefully tucked away in the prince's bedside drawer. The boy treasures them above all other things.

It is well, these turns of events.

It is well, that the boy has found friends.

Carbuncle watches, and Carbuncle is pleased. For a time, the boy's nights are not enchanted, but filled instead with regular boy-dreams. He dreams of helping to chop carrots; of forgetting his armor before practice; of sneaking off to an arcade, where behind a pinball machine he has his first kiss, fingers tangled in soft blonde hair.

 

* * *

 

When the boy is almost grown, he has closer friends than many find in a lifetime.

They are good to him, these friends, but sometimes they do not know what Noctis needs.

The advisor is considerate, but bound by propriety. The Shield would lay down his life, but cannot express what he feels. The one with the mark on his wrist hedges and hesitates; he is often too insecure in his own worth to presume.

That first kiss was only ever a thing of dreams.

But now, more than ever, the boy needs his friends. He needs bright days and soft laughter to balance out the darkness that has come upon his world.

Regis lies dead in his shattered husk of a city, no one to come and put him to rest. The boy mourns his father, but he does it behind closed doors, when he thinks no one will judge him weak for his tears.

The boy's magic eats away at him each time he wields a sword. In glittering flashes of light and beauty, it steals his life one moment at a time. Noctis worries this power will do to him what it did to his father; that it will bow his back and grey his hair and ruin his legs. He worries that it will kill him slowly, but Carbuncle watches.

Carbuncle knows he does not have that long.

And so, as when the boy was very small, Carbuncle carves a space for him, soft and bright, between his waking moments. When Noctis rests his head upon his pillow, Carbuncle steals him away to fill his nights with joy and wonder.

 

* * *

 

The carnival is in a place the boy has never been, but Carbuncle watches. Carbuncle knows where the threads of fate will lead, and that someday, Noctis will set foot in this city of dazzling architecture and glistening waterways.

But that is later.

For now, there is only this.

There are only the balloons that float above the city, bright spots in the clear blue sky. There are only docks above an ocean teeming with endless fish. There is only the feel of the racing saddle beneath him, and a camera in his hands, and a dance, awkward and charming, dared only because no one he knows is here to see.

When the nights come, there is the softest of beds and the grandest of dinners. When the nights come, the sky lights up with color and the boy's face lights up with delight.

When the nights come, Carbuncle sits upon the boy's shoulders and wishes he could grant the boy more time.

 

* * *

 

The boy wakes and sleeps and dreams again. He steps into and out of the carnival, and in the mornings, his face always holds a smile.

He brings things to his friends, souvenirs from the land of dreams, like a cat offering treasures to its favorite people.

The advisor wakes one morning to two new recipes scribbled in his immaculately-kept notebook, in Noctis' sloppy, sleep-addled hand.

The Shield gets a tag in his sleeping bag. It bears the letter A, mysteriously enough, and when he asks the boy what it means, Noctis cannot remember the moment of righteous pride to explain why he brought it.

The one with the unfortunate mark on his wrist gets a small stuffed chocobo, the yellow fabric soft and yielding. Their hands brush when Noctis gives it to him; the childishly enthusiastic hug he receives in return lasts just a moment too long.

Their first kiss comes five years late, up against the bark of a tree, ducked behind branches thick with pine needles so that no one will see them.

Carbuncle is glad of it.

There is not much time left, no. But some is better than nothing at all.


End file.
